


Less things to do in Tokyo City.

by queercontent



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Trailer, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 09:12:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18163310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queercontent/pseuds/queercontent
Summary: The thing about Clint was that sometimes he was too much of a bozo to do himself any good.





	Less things to do in Tokyo City.

The thing about Clint was that sometimes he was too much of a bozo to do himself any good. He’d just killed three of Thanos’s guys while a storm raged down on him with the speed and agility of a circus acrobat turned trained soldier. And he had bird shit on his shoulder. A whole brown nugget of it just sitting there, on his shoulder, swaddled in white yolk that had hardened sometime in the past hour but hadn’t been washed away in the storm.

“You been there the whole time?” He wiped blood from his nose with his palm. 

“Yeah, Clint,” Natasha said. The storm had died down and she closed her umbrella. 

“You saw the things I killed?”

“Yeah.”

She walked towards him and he stood still. She was still staring at the bird shit. Was it impolite not to mention it? Would it make him feel foolish in a way that falling off a building and cracking his head open didn’t? The thing about Clint was that he had messed up priorities. She never knew which way he was going to swing. 

He gave her a grin that said, “I’m unaware I have bird shit on my shoulder, I’m just waiting for you to tell me how cool I am.” He had no time to say any of that, though, and she no time to warn him before another couple of thugs jumped them. 

This was kind of getting boring, she thought, as she drove her baton into a guy’s throat. She really couldn’t catch a break. It was the end of the world and she could be kicking back with a cocktail while Steve came up with a plan that would surely get them all killed, but here she was, dragging Clint back from whatever hellish suicide mission he was on, because she cared. She’d never cared before Clint, this doofus with bird shit on his shoulder. He caught the guy he was fighting around the torso, swung him around, and tossed him into an alleyway with a cartoonish thud as he landed in a pile of trash. Natasha went after him and choked him out. Job done, good work, team. Great effort.

“So,” Clint said, shouldering his bow. “What brings you all the way to Japan?”

“I could ask the same thing of you. Bastard.”

He chuckled like he didn’t have a care in the world, but that was a lie. Everyone had a care, now. Everyone had family who was dead, or missing, or whatever it was they were that meant they weren’t there anymore. Clint lost his family. All he had was his bow and shit-stained jacket. 

“Where have you been hiding out?”

He shrugged and looked around. She couldn’t hear anything, but they could never be too careful. “Here and there. Been moving around a bit.”

“I noticed. Got something on your mind, dear?” She asked.

“You tell me. Seems you know everything there is to know about me. Where’d you hide the tracker this time, up my ass?”

“Cute of you to think that I care about what’s up your ass.”

He threw his head back and laughed, a hearty, open laugh that shut down her defenses. Even after all these years he could still make her weak with just a smile. 

“You’ve got bird shit on your shoulder, by the way.”

He looked at his left shoulder, then his right, as if to confirm, as if she would lie about it just to make him look like an idiot. He did that enough himself. Case in point: wandering around the deadened streets of Tokyo with bird shit on his shoulder. 

“I’m saving it for later,” he said. 

She clutched her wet umbrella and with the same hand wiped his shoulder once, twice until it was clean. “There,” she said.

“Do you want to tuck me into bed, too?” Up close, his ages lines were more pronounced, but she had shit on her hand and wasn’t paying enough attention to really think about it. Okay, she was purposefully not thinking about. She had enough survivor’s guilt to last her a lifetime. She didn’t need to think about how his life was ending one day at a time while hers seemed to never end. 

“You really do have a milf complex, don’t you? Freud would make a meal out of you.”

“First I’d have to explain to him what a milf is.”

“Come on,” she said, turning around and leading him back to the ship she’d borrowed from headquarters. Her hand was streaked white and brown but when he took it in his own she didn’t feel bad about it. Not bad at all.


End file.
